


Runaway Wolf

by oonaseckar



Category: Runaway Bride (1999), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Runaway Bride (1999) Fusion, F/M, Gen, M/M, Marriage, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonaseckar/pseuds/oonaseckar
Summary: It's the Runaway Bride universe!  Imagine Derek as Julia Roberts!  G'wan, do it!
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. there never is any escape from difficulties

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title is Enid Blyton.

"One more time,' Laura instructed Derek, as he stared in the full-length mirror and pulled awkwardly at the hem of his monkey suit jacket. Patiently, he rotated one more time, as his sister picked at his hair, scrutinized him down to the most millimetric details. 'Yeah, he's gonna love you. He's gonna _marry_ you.' This was the point where she caught at his chin, pulled him around to face her, 'Just as long as you go the distance. Instead of, you know,' and at his point she rolled her eyes, both exasperated and somehow a little desperate, 'going the actual distance. You're going through with it this time, right? Der. Please. It's not that the family minds being a laughing-stock. What there is left of it, the family and our dignity. It's just that...'

Derek closed his eyes a moment, and looked pained when he opened them again. 'We're on a different level now?'

Laura leaned her head on his shoulder, and nodded. 'Yeah. One thing to leave a guy – or girl - at the altar, when it's just your family and friends and his to witness it. Another when it's the whole town come to pay their respects, and see if you make it through the ceremony this time. Even a third time, only local TV and radio and a few assholes on Facebook and Twitter were keeping score... But, Der, now...'

Derek himself felt a twinge of apprehension. He knew just what she meant. 'This time it'd be national.'

Laura shuddered, leaning against him. 'National? Derek, if you run out on this wedding... if you run out on Scott... it'll be _global_. Der... this time you _have_ to marry the guy. For all our sakes.'

Laura twisted her head sideways a little, gave him a little side-eye there too. 'And if you don't, little bruh...' She gave him a glint of the alpha in her eyes, and the beta in him shuddered, ready to roll over, to seek forgiveness before any infraction even. 'Then you'd better have the best goddamn running shoes money can buy on those big damn feet of yours. Because I'll be coming after you myself, and there'll be nowhere to run to, baby, nowhere to hide.'

It was the rolling growl in her chest that told him she meant it.

xxx

Feet up on the desk and his tablet beeping with messages from a useful source, Stiles pinged a text over at Lydia as he surveyed the pathetic lump of turbid text he'd so far managed to eke out regarding the latest banking meltdown. 'Lyds. We're going to go together to Kira's hen night, right? As your ex I think I have first dibs. And I'm not going alone. I have manly Stilinski dignity to keep up.'

She didn't respond: nor to the email in her inbox, nor to the paper spitball sent flying in her direction, miles over on the other side of the room. A fourth attempt, landing in her coffee-cup and splashing her lovely new pussybow blouse, finally got her attention, more than he really wanted. Teeth bared, she lifted her lovely face, walked over to him and reached over to grab his wrist. Tight, nice and tight. 'Hey, Lyds, it's like old times,' he said, eyes wide and innocent. 'You can get the cuffs out if you're in that mood. Backseat of your car or mine?'


	2. you're the only one for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek Hale - the notorious, 'runaway groom' Derek Hale - is marrying _who_ this time?//!!!??/!!!!!!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from 'Runaway Bride'.

Lyds wasn't having any. She gripped tighter, and leaned in to hiss at him. 'Stiles. Will you get it through your head? This isn't senior year: I am not your buddy, and not your girlfriend. And even if I am your _ex_ -girlfriend, it counts for shit! Considering we're both the sole survivors of the 2002 internship cadre/massacre, and copy-editors at this paper in _direct competition._ I am not your friend, Stiles. I am your _rival_. Survival of the fittest, and if I have to eat your liver to cut my way to a staff-writer position, I will do it in a--'

This was normally the point where Stiles swung over, laid his head in her lap and made goo-goo Bambi eyes, to get her to pet his head. So that was what he did. She was just pretending to be annoyed – also normal procedure – and giving him half-hearted shoves while, yes, petting him, when his phone went. He picked it up.

It was his Dad, and that was good, giving him warm and fuzzy feelings of connectedness, and also an opportunity to grill the old guy about his menus for the upcoming week. Less cozy perhaps, when the Managing Editor stormed into the bullpen. Adrian 'Coach' Finstock, flying over and leaning down into Stiles' personal space.

Coach didn't say a word. Didn't have to: the large, slightly sticky thumb planted on Stiles' forehead as he talked into his phone said much, said it all. 'Anyway gotta go, Dad: and if I find anything but turkey bacon in your secret stash when I come home we're going to have a _talk_. Going! Love ya!' he added fast, rolling his eyes at Coach's contemptuous icky-face regarding manly affection between parental unit and child.

'No! Wait a minute, there's one more thing, it's what I called to tell you in the first place,' the Sheriff said urgently. Coach's thumb was about to burn a permanent brand on Stiles' forehead, and Lydia was leaning back and grinning as she enjoyed not being the subject of the Managing' Ed's wrath. But Stiles knew his filial duty.

'Hurry, Dad,' he said resigned. 'Or you're gonna get me fired.' Coach's grin was feral, and Stiles fervently hoped his big mouth hadn't put ideas in the psycho's head.

'It's Scott McCall, your old kindergarten pal,' his Dad said, sounding gleeful, and appalled. 'I've been hearing the jungle drums from over back home in Beacon Hills. You'll _never_ guess who he's marrying. Guess, kid! You'll never do it!'

'Dad!' Stiles expostulated. He'd have been more loquacious normally, but time was money, and too much time on the phone was unemployment. And his forehead was hurting.

' _Derek Hale!_ ' his Dad exclaimed. 'Can you believe it? It's crazy, right? Who'd have thought? You've got to give him a call, make sure he sends you an invite. Little Derek Hale, and old Scottie from kindergarten! I mean, not to mention them both being werewolves, but then there's the whole _runaway bride_ thing, with Hale. I just hope your old friend knows what he's doing, that's all.'


	3. i hate big weddings with everyone staring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is working on an inside tip, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Runaway Bride.

But the thing is, Stiles already knows.

He's already had the call from his old buddy Scott. Yep, good buddies all over again, after bumping into each other on a skiing vacation and resuming their old David and Jonathan thing. 

But when he gets the call, he can't tell a word the idiot is saying. Reception is terrible, but it's more than that. It's a crazy breathless burble, incoherent, but after a while there's a repeated motif, that slows and clarifies so that Stiles begins to make it out. '… **vfkvolglflf** **vkjf** **dfkdk** _married_ **vgfkifjufjrfjrf** **fkfkfrk** _married_ **xgfpfkofofo** getting _married_ **xdopgfprfp** [ **a** I'M GETTING MARRIED!''

Yeah, that's definitely it, Stiles is pretty sure. **I'M GETTING MARRIED**. So. Scott is getting married.

'Holy shit!… You're getting _married_?'

* * *

They've been out of touch for quite a while, what with Stiles bumming around Europe after college, what with Scott's parents splitting up, what with Stiles adjusting to life in New York and his internship-leading-to-junior-reporter job at -- cue modest look - a _major national publication,_ what with Scott getting bitten and becoming a werewolf...

'What! You're a werewolf! When in the goddamn hell did that happen?!'

Yes, this comes up in the course of their conversation, and somewhat overshadows even the news of Scott's impending marriage. (To a guy. A _Derek Hale?_ And since when was _Scott_ into _guys_? Not that Stiles has a problem with that, at all. He's not averse to driving stick _himself_ , now and then. But Scott always seemed purely and simply a ladies' man, or perhaps more of a _lonesome knight at arms all palely loitering,_ and pining for one damn dame after another. And he'd never shown any, er, interest in Stiles, at least not in that way. Although, granted, they were hardly of an age even for kiddie crushes, at the time. Still, though.

What, is Stiles not attractive to gay guys?)

Scott seems unconcerned, even a little vague, as he assures Stiles, 'Oh, don't worry, I've totally adjusted now. And Derek's uncle feels just terrible about it, so for god's sake don't bring it up at the wedding!'

'His uncle?' Stiles voice might just possibly be getting a little screechy at this point. 'What about his uncle?'

'Well,' Scott explains, blithe and probably trailing clouds of glory, that really sickening kind that the love-sick like to show off. "It's a long story, okay?"


	4. Chapter 4

So, that was how it went. Stiles is fully up to speed. But now, the Sheriff clearly thinks he's passing on big news.

This is way too much to sort out in one go, and Stiles really needs to put the phone down. Especially since Coach has given up with the attempt to dig a hole through his forehead with one finger, and is now leaning in, one knee resting on Stiles' thigh, head close to his, listening in. It's deeply, deeply creepy: and more than a bit homoerotic. You could say Stiles isn't comfortable with it. So he shoves the phone into its stand and flips it to speakerphone, hurriedly.

Coach backs off: very slowly, and with just a trace of a poledancer's wriggle. Every desk around them erupts into sniggers, as Stiles flushes tomato-red.

"Anyway. Hale?," the Sheriff rambles on. "I thought when I heard, the surname at least is familiar. We knew a few Hales, when you were little, back in Beacon Hills, right? And, then I thought, Scott? Old Scotty? Getting married? But don't I remember something about the Hales? Yes! You remember, Stiles, they're werewolves! _Werewolves?!!!"_ And not only that: you remember that whole runaway wolf bride deal in the media, over the past few years? That's Derek Hale!!!"

Stiles lunges in to give his Dad a grilling: but his Dad is already ranting on obliviously, and Coach shoves him back, one handed. And he leans into the phone himself. 'Mr Stilinski, Sr.: or may I call you 'Dad'? It's _Dad_ , right? Or as our little Lydia refers to you, the Sheriff? I always picture you with a ten-gallon hat, sir. Now, backtrack a little: did I just hear you refer to a _runaway bride?_ And, wait a minute -" and at this point, where Coach might reasonably have started flicking at his own chin, or picking his nose, or whatever aids his labyrinthine thought processes, he starts flicking at Stiles' chin instead. At least he isn't picking Stiles' nose. Stiles would be too terrified to put up a fight in any case.

There's a split-second where the Sheriff clearly processes the fact that he's on speaker: and then, 'That's right. Mind if I enquire who I'm speaking to?'


	5. Chapter 5

Coach puffs his chest out – he still has his goddamn knee on Stiles'! - and catches Stiles' nose between finger and thumb. "Helps me think, messing with you," he hisses in explanation. Well. Stiles knows that. "Adrian Finstock," he adds, full voice, to the phone. "AKA the Managing Ed., AKA your lovely little lad's boss. So, Sheriff. That _runaway bride_ : That _werewolf_ runaway bride, am I right? Now that rings a bell. Where have I heard that before?"

There's another cautious moment of processing, before the Sheriff says, polite and cautious, "It featured on the local news stations, I guess it might have been picked up elsewhere. What with it being Derek Hale's fourth attempted wedding, the last time. And the werewolf thing. I guess they call him a bride to mess with him: there was some film or something, I don't know. He's not exactly a girly type. Can you put me back on with my son, Mr Finstock? Good to meet you, by the way."

"And you, sir," Finstock shoots back at him, vigorous, mad-eyed. "Sure, you're welcome to your kid: see if you can get it in his head that he shouldn't be getting personal calls at work. He gets a free pass this once though. Because of reasons." And he yanks up the receiver, sticks it in Stiles' hand, and proceeds to make wiggly hand signs that seem to indicate _carry on your goddamn conversation Bilinski!_

And waits until he's actually done that –- warily, eyes still on the boss –- before carrying on with the silent, hectic mime. First, pointy hands at the phone –- meaning Stiles' Dad? -- and then more vigorous pointiness at Stiles himself. Then, an insanely menacing series of grimaces, baring of teeth, growling, and then, yeah, howling. Loud enough to ricochet round the entire fucking building. Yeah, presumably at the moon. He ends with a final pointy jab in Stiles' chest, and another nod to the phone, from which Stiles can hear his Dad's bewildered murmur: "You. Werewolf. Weddings. Altars. Story. Go. _Fetch_."

And then he's out of the office, barreling into people, muttering to himself, hands through wild hair. Maybe to take his medication. Stiles lives in hope.

He puts the phone back to his ear, feeling maybe a bit faint with weariness, and shoots Lydia a pleading look. It's some combination of _save me_ and _what have I got myself into_ and _please come cover this piece with me you're a Beacon Hills refugee too way back._

He gets a mean laugh, which is about what he expected. And just sighs into the phone. "Dad? My room's not cleared out, or filled with like, your junk, right? Because, I may be coming home for a visit."


	6. Chapter 6

Coming home to Beacon Hills was weird, deeply weird and unsettling, and comforting at the same time. First thing Stiles did was drive past their old house, the one they'd lived in before his Mom had died, before his Dad had applied for a transfer with the force out of state, to get away from the memories and the people who wanted to talk about Claudia Stilinski every damn day of his life. Mourning didn't mean wanting to talk about her. It meant holding her close to his heart, and hugging his son extra tight when he dropped him off at junior school. It meant a stone face and shutting the fuck up and _can I get a bit of privacy here people._

Stiles had understood. Other people didn't. That was why they got the hell out, left the past behind.

And also his oldest bud: now the manager of the largest bakery in town (which didn't do dark chocolate macaroons, so they were getting fuck all business from Stiles, except, his bud was the manager, so, well...) Jumping out of the jeep, he walked into his welcome: what else was Facebook for, except seventeen year overdue apologies for losing touch, and making arrangements to rock up at your childhood buddy's place of work in the middle of the working week afternoon?

The strip lights were glaring in full daylight, bouncing off thick white china, and he could smell adzuki-paste Danish from the kitchen in back. And when Scott came out, pulling his apron and nylon hairnet off as he came, they went straight for the hug. It was easy. It was amazingly hard and emotional and great, and easy too. 'You're like, practically exactly the same, dude!' Stiles exclaimed, like an accusation, dragging the asshole in for a second hug after taking a squiz at his funny face, wordless laughter for both of them. 'You were a little skinny dude with a funny chin, and now you're a slightly bigger skinny dude with a funny chin! This guy of yours, he's got a thing for assymetry, right?'

'I have the chin of a Greek god, asshole!' Scott protested, tried to deadleg him, and Stiles went back for more and scruffed his hair, rough enough to conceal any amount of affection. To avoid any further conversational requirement, they roughhoused each other for a minute or so, a little scuffling and tussling and laughing that equilibrated them, got them into the zone of _just like old times._ Stiles felt all of six again, he was pretty sure Scott did too. Then the really big news exploded in his brain all over again. 'And, oh, my God, dude, you're getting _married_ and everything!' He felt like his eyes were going to actually pop, because seriously his face did not have enough muscles and eyebrows to express all the amazement it was containing.


	7. Chapter 7

Scott flung his arms wide, grinning, like it was pretty amazing, and confounding, to him too. 'Yeah! Can you believe it? It's pretty hard for _me_ to believe, even. I mean, someone's agreed to put up with me -- for life!'

Stiles punched him in the arm, giving it a lot of manly emphasis. 'Hey, he should know how lucky he is, dude. He's a lucky dude to have a dude like you.' Scott snorted, and Stiles grinned from under a raised eyebrow. 'Overdoing it? Hey, I'm not going to be squealing about flowers and, like, napkin holders, man. And veils. _Floral arrangements._ Jesus Christ, Scott,' he added, memory coming back to him in small controlled explosions, 'you're marrying a _wolf_ , though! At least that's what my dad says. Is that right? No,' he said, at the eager avalanche that was waiting right behind Scott's half-opened mouth, 'wait a minute, a wolf who-'

And then tact and discretion got the better of him. God knew it wasn't often that _that_ happened. He paused and stumbled, and all Scott had on his face was a look of utter incomprehension

God, it was just like being back in third grade. But the general idea did seem to get through after a moment, and Scott's face was lit with the dawning of comprehension. Though his lip tightened a bit, with apparent disapproval. It almost evened up his jawline. 'Yeah, Stiles, I suppose you've heard,' he said, more evenly than his bone structure. 'Derek's – well, he's been around the block once or twice, he'll totally admit that, so will I. But-'

'Round the block in his running shoes, huh?' Stiles joshed. And he immediately wondered if his own very nice Ted Baker dress shoes would be edible if stewed long enough. What with his foot right in his mouth.


	8. Chapter 8

That got him a slightly less amicable arm-punch, but the twist of Scott's mouth was resigned. 'Aw, shit, dude, bring it on. You don't think I've heard all of it, anything you can come up with? But I don't care: we're together now, Derek's ready to make a commitment, this is forever, man.' Scott looked amazingly happy: that sappy look he'd always got as a kid, from seeing squirrels or minding his baby cousins or watching The Goonies. 'Romance is nice, man: _love_ is nice. You should try it sometime. Anyway, come over and sit down: I'll get you some pie, we can hang out for twenty minutes before I have to get back in there, take the next batch out.' And as he ushered Stiles over, he yelled over to the girl on the counter – a pop-eyed and rather gorgeous bottle-blonde – to bring them cherry pie and coffees. "Make it snappy, Erica! I gotta pack a lot of reminiscing into a quarter hour!"

But they were half an hour and second coffees and ice-cream into it, before they were interrupted. That got them through Scott's community college chef training, Danny Maehlani coming out junior year of high school – 'Danny!' Stiles crooned. 'I'm not saying I had a crush, man, because I was a pretty manly and stoical eight year old, But Danny Maehlani! He's available, right?'

He wasn't. 'Yeah, then he met Erica here and ran right back in again," Scott explained. "Major hetero item, now. Sorry, buddy. I'd like to fix everyone up so they were as happy as me, but, hey, _nobody_ could be as happy as me.' Scott's eyes melted. It was almost as disgusting as if it was literal.

Stiles was momentarily crushed: but he did recover in order to hear the story of cute-meeting and courtship that appeared to be the McCall-Hale romance. '...and then he picked up the spanner and showed me how to use it!' Scott explained, hands a-wigglin' and jigglin' as he described their first meeting in the Hale main street hardware store. (Stiles had forgotten how much it was the case that the Hale clan basically owned the town, and half the outlying farmland. Score for Scott, he supposed. _Nice sugar:_ not that Scott was the sugar-baby or trophy husband type.)

But, like a dutiful old bud, he promptly gave it a whole lot of eye-rolling. 'Yeah. Yeah, man, he showed you _where to put the spanner_. Right. You do realize exactly how much self-control I'm exerting right at this minute, okay?' And he dodged the punch, just in time, and they were laughing enough for Stiles to have no warning whatsoever for the second punch.

That was the one delivered, unknowing, by the lethally – _lethally_ , Stiles thought he might be about to have a heart attack and expire before his Dad ever managed it – gorgeous dude, who materialized behind Scott after the bakery doorbell rang. He made his presence known by silently petting at Scott's head, which, hey, _a little bit stalkery, dude._ Well, Stiles supposed, this was probably Hale.

 _Second_ score for Scott, then. Scott was immediately up off his chair and _all up in that,_ with a lot of hugs and cheek-kissing that had Stiles settling down in his chair and examining his manicure like it was more interesting than just tragic. Terrifyingly broodingly handsome probably-Hale seemed to tolerate being man-handled quite fondly, giving Scott a quick grappling-type side-hug back, and a forehead kiss. And then stern advice to, 'Knock it off, Scotty. Your buddy's embarrassed.'


	9. Chapter 9

He was that transparent, huh? Scott just grinned at him, and pointed at handsome rolly-eyed dude, one finger jabbing into his cheek. ' _This_ is the asshole I'm marrying, Stiles: you wanna run through the 'or forever hold his peace bit' right now, before we get to the ceremony? Or maybe 'check out my shotgun and you better be good to him'? Think I'm making a mistake?'

This seemed to be a regular gambit, or at least nothing _handsome dude_ wasn't used to: he just gave his handsome monobrow an extra twitch of tolerance, and gave Stiles a detached, non-committal smile. 'Derek Hale. Since Scott can leave out the most important parts of any introduction, right?'

'Yeah, I'm Stiles,' he agreed. 'Since that didn't get covered either.' He stood, jabbed Scott in the ribs amicably. 'But me and Scott, we go way back, I'm used to all his ways of failing.'

The jab he got back was pretty ineffectual: on account of Scott didn't seem likely to be letting go of Derek any time soon, was in fact getting increasingly amorous.

There was something awkward about it, but Stiles stuck his hand right out anyway. He was the champ of toughing it out, and talking right through awkward social situations. Hale's grip was very warm, pleasantly strong, Stiles thought maybe he didn't even realize how firm his grip was.

'Good to meet you, Derek, ' Stiles said, eyeing the guy curiously. He was here on a story, obviously he'd done his research. It was stupid to feel this way: _obviously_ the guy was lethally handsome. How else had he managed to ensnare and hogtie four previous fiancés – and now Scott, poor Scott – and drag 'em to the altar? Well, after the first one.

Derek echoed him back, and Stiles felt himself being sized up, too. Just as curiously. It was weird, and he probably came up wanting. 'Wide-eyed bambi' was no doubt not Derek Hale's style, though it had had takers before now.


	10. Chapter 10

Anyway. He was rambling to himself. Which was some way better than rambling to other people, the way he usually did, but still...

Scott jumped in, though, and it was a good thing he did, too. He and this guy were staring at each other, and it was getting a little bit weird.

'So,' he said eagerly, clutching onto Hale's arm – God, Scott was _gone_ , just like he'd been with every damn girlfriend he'd had first grade to sixth. And then they'd lost track of each other, with Stiles moving and Scott's parents splitting up and school getting crazy for both of them. And Stiles doing a little detention time, following a misunderstanding with a mall cop.

'Stiles is going to do a piece, you know, research you a little, do it from our angle. Get in first before anyone else can, get our side of the story across.' Scott was babbling, his hand reaching out to re-order a stray strand of Hale's hair, his attention clearly wanderng. 'So you guys'll be spending a lot of time together. That's cool, right?' He turned his head to Stiles, though his body was still curled in towards Derek like sunflowers towards a yellow star. Scott – always _all_ in, once he was in.

'Okay,' Hale said, scanning one hazel eye over the bakery tiled walls one more time. His enthusiasm wasn't exactly overwhelming as he agreed. But he added, 'Seems like a good idea. We'll do that, then. Okay with you, Stiles?' he asked, one brow raised.

'My editor will love you,' Stiles said easily, sticking his hands in his pant pockets. 'Exclusive story, human interest, then as long as it really is fifth time lucky, everybody wins!'

There was a moment or two's sticky little silence. Then Scott jumped in, merciful. 'So come round to Derek's for dinner tonight, right? Mom'll be there too, she can't wait to see you. And Laura- you'll love Derek's sister. You think you can get your Dad to come over?'


	11. Chapter 11

They parted with a lot of fuss – between Stiles and Scott – and multiple reminders. But there was something Stiles caught in the look he got from Hale – not so much surly, more puzzled. Maybe wondering how anyone could be idiot enough to _remind_ him that he'd been a runaway groom, four times serially.

* * *

Stiles had done his research. But now he was up close, and that was something different. Now he could talk to all the folks Hale had dragged into his little drama. And a lot of them were familiar names, to Stiles.

Some of them were folks he'd gone to school with, along with Scott.

Some of the reported stories were _freaky weird,_ weird enough for him to suspect more skewing than was usual, even for popular media. But Beacon Hills was a relatively small town, and it wasn't difficult to get people talking about each other. Not according to his memory of the place, even if it was arrested when he was seven years old.

The problem was more how to get them to ever _stop_.

Small businesses were the place to begin, usually. And his hair was getting a little outgrown: it was way too late since it'd seen the shears and the razor. So he got himself to the main street barbers, the biggest place in town, and settled himself in a barber's chair.

There was something about the girl who shampooed him. And it wasn't only the wink he got, as she gently patted his head and gazed into his eyes as, evidently, part of the whole customer experience. But he couldn't place it, so he dismissed it, enjoyed the free head massage, and went ahead as per normal operations. 'So, been working here long? 'Cause I used to _live_ here. Just back in town for a friend's wedding, maybe you've heard about it? You might've, on account of it's kind of a big thing, the groom – well, one of the grooms – his last time around made the local news, and a couple of national stations on the East Coast, I think, and--.'


	12. Chapter 12

She cut him off with a hand over his mouth, which was a pretty intimate move even if he had been getting a head massage. Then leaned over, eyeball to eyeball. 'Stiles. _Everybody_ knows about that wedding. I mean everybody. And you already _know_ that everybody knows about it: because you wouldn't be here to write a story about it, otherwise."


End file.
